


Clockwork

by On_Sonnshine



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fights, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Self-Hatred, Torture, the r slur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/On_Sonnshine/pseuds/On_Sonnshine
Summary: Roman goes missing, swift and without notice- he's not gone for long, but in the back of his mind, Logan selfishly wishes he hadn't come back at all.





	1. Tick

**Author's Note:**

> im unsure if this counts as 'torture' but better safe than sorry

_Into the woods and down the path, to the left and out with the wrath, the wise man comes and here he says, ‘Time to weed your ties and mend.’_  
  
_To the right and the jester springs through, laughing madly, at me or at you, flashing out a few toothy grins and winking as he leaps and bends, ‘Break your heart and empty your mind, it’s a russians roulette for Us, for we ‘ave eyes’, his tone is jolly, spry, deathly and torn, but his end is lovely, and for that, we shan’t mourn._  
  
_These woods foster hatred, with the charm of a scorned Maître D', and those who enter here leave broken- won’t you come with me?_  
  
-  
  
Something was wrong. Logan knew that much.  
  
Something, was wrong.  
  
Thomas was dead silent and he'd been lounging on the sofa this entire time while Joan tried to bounce ideas off him, and something, was wrong.  
  
No, actually, Thomas wasn’t dead silent- no, he was talking, but only responding with furrowed brows and hesitant utterances of, ‘Well, I...like it I...guess but I don’t really see how...it could go, anywhere’, and- well- _logical_ counters to everything Joan suggested.  
  
And Logan wanted to be happy, he felt he should be happy- Thomas was acting more like him, shouldn’t his prideful self like that? And to be completely level, he _had_ been happy when it'd first come to his attention.  
  
But now Joan was looking frustrated and Virgil was on the- ha- verge, of an anxiety attack and demanding to know what the hell Thomas was doing and Patton was trying to calm him down and Deceit was practically begging Thomas to just _bullshit_ , a _little_ , Joan would eventually pick up the end of an idea if Thomas were to just _try_ , and Roman- Roman wasn’t even there.  
  
Logan, and Logan, even he was starting to see where this was going wrong, an almost-self-hatred wriggling it’s way into his brain. _Logos was never going to be the right choice when it was the only choice. He knew that. That had been proven many times, he’d had his wake-up call months ago. He was not the so-called, 'best', not by any means one could reasonably consider._  
  
But even acknowledging that wouldn’t fix whatever was happening.  
  
‘Wh- what is he _doing_ th- these are _good_ ideas, he’s- he’s never had any trouble suspending disbelief and going off on some- some tangent before-’ Virgil’s voice is slipping in and out of being doubled up, hands tangling in the strings of his hoodie and tugging as he paced, Patton hovering near him worriedly.  
  
‘Well, Virgil, I suppose-’ ‘Thomas **_isn't_** completely blowing it, _Logan_ , even- _ugh-_ ’ Deceit stomps his foot like a petulant child, throwing his arm out towards Virgil, ‘ _ **Don’t**_ look at M-M-' He stutters, huffs, ' _Anxiety!_ '  
  
'Whatever **_isn’t_** going on with Thomas _**needn’t**_ be fixed _now_ , before _he-_ ’ He jerks his hand, ‘-gets any **_calmer!_** ’  
  
Virgil’s head jerks to Deceit, eyes wide at the sudden defense, but he doesn’t say anything- Deceit mutters a few dark words that most certainly aren't english, and Logan brushes right past that, tensing at the verbal assault. He recognizes, at least, ‘listig ezel’, and he also recognizes, at least, that it comes out as roughly translating to ‘smartass’. He bristles. He’ll have to look up the rest later.  
  
‘Well shouting certainly isn’t going to help, _kankeren._ ’ Deceit pauses, blinking, and in any other situation he’d laugh, or preen. But as it stands now, he sneers, rolling his eyes.  
  
‘That _**totally**_ makes sense- but that _**isn’t**_ besides the point in the _first place-_ ’ ‘ _I_ wasn’t the one to begin using childish insults in a serious situation-’ ‘Guys-’ ‘ _Oh_ as though you weren’t all too ready to join me-’ ‘ _Guys-_ ’ ‘At least _I_ am doing more for the situation than _you_ , ordering everyone about as though it helps a bit-’ ‘ _GUYS!_ ’  
  
Their heads snap to the shout.  
  
‘ _WHAT?_ ’  
  
‘Quit _fighting_ , Logan’s right! Shouting isn’t going to help!’ It’s Patton, Virgil tucked into his side, grasping hard onto the fabric of his shirt, breath coming faster.  
  
They both feel a surge of guilt at the sight of that, and when Patton sends them a pointed look, leading Virgil to sit down, neither offers an argument.  
  
Deceit huffs, obediently sweeping past Logan, muttering a, ‘ _ **Not**_ sorry’, surprising both of them seemingly. He sinks to sit at the dining room table, arms crossing and eyes zeroing in on the scratches in the wood- anything to take his mind off Thomas’ disaster of an attitude.  
  
Logan looks between Patton, Virgil, and Deceit, for a long moment, sighing and offering a quiet, ‘I’m...I’m sorry, too,’ before taking his seat at the edge of the couch.  
  
Logan didn't feel the usual pride he felt when told he was right, and briefly, he mourned the days of his narcissism.  
  
-  
  
Logan tightened his tie a little too harshly as he rose up, eyes narrowed, the other three already having followed his example.  
  
Thomas starts, but none of them are too keen to give him a moment to get out a word.  
  
‘Thomas, pardon my blunt nature, but please do inform us- what the hell is wrong with you?’ ‘ _Logan!_ ’  
  
Patton gives him a hard look, but Deceit just shrugs, stepping forward and shaking his head, arms crossing over his chest.  
  
‘ _ **Yes**_ , Patton, Logan is _**wrong**_ , i’m entirely _**uncertain**_ that we’re all wondering what's gotten into Thomas.’ Patton frowns, going to open his mouth again, but Thomas has sat up by now, and he stares around at all of them, confusion marring his features.  
  
‘I-? Nothing??’ Thomas frowns, cocking his head, ‘Nothing has gotten into me I just...didn’t... _feel_ the ideas.’  
  
Deceit’s jaw drops a little, and slowly, he raises an eyebrow.  
  
‘So, you _**couldn’t**_ say you’re... _ **keeping your-**_ ’ ‘If we do this _one. More._ _Time._ I am _fine_ and _willing_ to to instigate a strike.’  
  
Deceit glares at Logan, tongue flicking out in a brief hiss.  
  
‘I _**was**_ going to say that, geek. Either way, we can _**totally**_ have this discussion without Thomas’ _**subsidiary**_ source of ideas and fanciful rants and deep interest in _**nothing**_ Joan has to say.’ Patton nods, sighing in some mixture of relief and exhaustion at the first reasonable statement he’d heard so far.  
  
‘I agree.’  
  
Patton reaches out, near absently flicking a finger at Roman’s spot, gaze barely landing on the spot in favour of drifting to Thomas.  
  
They all stay silent as nothing happens.  
  
Patton frowns, twitching to look back to Roman’s spot, still empty, and he repeats the motion a few times, Deceit shifting back out of the way.  
  
When Patton’s movements become frantic, however, Deceit grabs his wrist, stopping him. He looks around at all of them.  
  
‘I _**don’t**_ doubt he’s du-...’ Deceit pauses, brow furrowing, ‘ _ **Ri…? In…?**_ ’  
  
He readily lifts his middle finger when Logan raises an eyebrow at him, glaring.  
  
‘It’s _**less**_ likely that he's merely too far into his realm for our attempts to reach him. One of us _**won’t**_ have to go manually retrieve him.’ Deceit glances around, raising an eyebrow.  
  
No one moves.  
  
‘Fine. Not it.’  
  
There’s an immediate round of ‘ _NOT IT_ ’ from Patton and Virgil, and Thomas follows right behind, leaving Logan, glaring with just about as much murderous intent as he can manage at Deceit. He always lost at that- considering that he refused to partake in it.  
  
Deceit offers him a toothy grin.  
  
‘Get going, my dear.’  
  
Logan rolls his eyes, grumbling as he turns to stalk up the stairs.  
  
He doesn’t bother with a cautionary knock, entering the room with a slight huff. As Logan had expected, the solid white door embedded between Roman’s bathroom and his walk-in closet- that was far too large for Logan’s taste- was cracked open.  
  
Logan paused just at the door, offering a cursory glance around the room. He frowns.  
  
It’s normally in tip-top shape, neat and clean.  
  
Now, though, the large canopy beds sheets and blankets and plushies are all strewn at random, and the glass of water on the nightstand seemed to have a layer of dust covering it. Untouched. Old.  
  
The bin beside the desk is tipped over, and the chair to Roman’s desk is leaning against the bed, as though it had been thrown in haste. The smattering of Virgil’s old shirts and pajama pants and jeans that are normally tossed on a chair in the corner are absent, as well.  
  
_That_ is first when a few prickles of concern manage to break through his annoyance. He’s tempted to tidy up the room, but the anxiety prickling at his chest is enough of a motivator to make him shake his head and exhale.  
  
Logan swings open the door, entering Roman’s realm and clicking the door shut behind him.  
  
Gravel crunches beneath his italian leather shoes, though its replaced almost instantly with the soft brown ground of the path leading down into the village. A young girl frolics with her brother off in a meadow to Logan’s right, both giggling madly. Under normal circumstances, Logan would admire the work that surely went into this.  
  
Now, though, it’s the farthest thing from his mind.  
  
A small cat crosses his path, meowing plaintively up at him. He only offers it a brief scratch under the chin before continuing.  
  
He’s only passed a few small cottages before he sees exactly who he’d been looking for- a freakishly tall, dark-skinned man, long hair held back in a bun, wearing a deep green vest and knee-high boots.  
  
‘Sir Robert.’  
  
The man looked up, green eyes lighting at the sight of him.  
  
‘Logan! I’m pleased to see you here again! Did his majesty summon for you?’ The woman Robert had been talking with smiled at him, distracting herself with the child tugging at her skirt.  
  
Logan shakes his head, hands tucking into his pockets, shoulders hunching a little.  
  
‘Negatory- I came to search for him, actually.’ Robert nods.  
  
‘Ah, I see. Well, he’s been off in what I can only assume is a feverish battle with the dragon witch for three days, now!’ Logan feels another spike of anxiety in the pit of his belly, and it must show, because Robert pauses. He glances around briefly before leaning closer.  
  
‘His majesty demanded I not follow after him, however, I too am concerned. He has never spent this long on a battle. A quest, perhaps, but that’s far different.’ Robert gives a half-chuckle, and then he leans back, hand falling to the sword at his hip.  
  
He points to the woods after a long stretch of silence, right behind the castle off in the distance.  
  
‘If you start at the back doors of the castle, and continue into the forest, and to the right on the path, you should come over a cave. That is where our king should be-’ Robert pulls his sword from his hip with an audible _shing_ , ‘Take this. Just in case.’  
  
Logan hesitates. It would be smart to have a weapon, but he could always just summon one. Besides. He’d never been the best at handling swords.  
  
‘I- I shouldn’t, but thank you.’  
  
Robert pauses, slowly sheathing his sword again, nodding at him, giving a pensive, nearly tense, smile- Logan can’t blame him as he makes off down the road.  
  
-  
  
Logan doesn’t know how long he’s been walking down the dirt road, leaves crunching beneath his shoes and wind rustling his hair. It all looks the same, and Logan hopes he hasn’t missed the turn-off. He whistles as he walks, keeping his eyes low despite the urge to admire the forest.  
  
When the road finally turns, it’s not the road that makes him realize- it’s when he bumps into something a crisp white that jumps a little at the contact, snorting.  
  
Logan’s head jerks up, and he stumbles back.  
  
_Oh._  
  
Roman’s horse. Phillip. Tied to a tree by the reigns, tail swishing, stamping his feet and huffing. His head jerks down the path, and Logan exhales. He gently reaches out, cooing.  
  
‘Phillip, Phillip, hey, hey, good boy, good boy-’ Logan snaps his fingers, gently directing Phillip to look at him, and Phillip snorts again, stamping calming a little as Logan’s other hand reaches up to rub between his ears.  
  
‘Good boy. Good boy.’ Logan gives him one last pet before stepping away, steps quicker at the knowledge that Phillip was concerned with something apparently important down the path.  
  
It doesn’t take long for him to spot it. A shadowed cave, shielded by trees and bushes. For a moment, he exhales in relief. Only a moment. Because then, his eyes land on a red object lying on the ground, and he pauses, sweat prickling the back of his neck- his gait turns into a jog.  
  
Roman’s sash.  
  
His mouth dries as he picks it up, and after a moment of glancing back to Phillip- or at least where he knows Phillip is, considering the curve in the path- he slips it on, trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling in his gut.  
  
His gaze moves to the cave-it isn’t exactly well-lit, curving narrowly, but Logan doesn’t allow it to stop him. Not allowing himself to hesitate, Logan steps in, despite the apprehension prickling at the back of his mind.  
  
His steps echo as he traverses the cave, and he tries not to let his mind wander to grim possibilities. Thankfully- at least, Logan thinks, he should be thankful- the cave turns and curves around into a large opening, soon enough.  
  
He takes a long 10 seconds, taking in a breath before stepping forward and peering in.  
  
The logical Side has to scan the room for a moment before his eyes land on movement, and he lets out an exasperated sigh, going to step forward at the sight of Roman, standing tall and proud in the middle of the room. Something seemed...off. But he didn’t stop to think.  
  
At least, not until his gaze moved further.  
  
Roman- another one?- is knelt on the ground in front of the first, sword snapped in half and thrown to the side. His chest heaves, outfit resting in tatters around the room. The sight is enough to jolt into Logan what was off.  
  
The Roman who was standing, he was wearing a sash. A deep, blood red, sash. Logan’s hand comes up to feel the soft fabric of the cloth resting loosely around him.  
  
The dragon-witch, the manticore, none of them are anywhere in sight. Logan knows, before seeing that, that they aren’t, though. Roman may get beaten up in battle but he always wins. On the occasion he doesn’t, he’s still in high spirit, saying he’ll have to give it another go soon. It’s all in fun.  
  
This is not. Roman is crying. Logan can hear his weeping, despite how soft it is- it nearly echoes, just like his footsteps. Long cuts paint Roman’s back, stitched up but looking none too healthy either way.  
  
Logan’s frozen in place, and he looks closer, heart beating hard in his ears.  
  
The...Not-Roman, the standing one, the sash isn’t the only difference. His hair is slicked back and his eyes are a sharp green, a slit above his nose indicating a third eye. His suit is a crisp white- in comparison to the real Roman’s destroyed one, it’s almost mocking.  
  
Logan shifts forward again, and a few rocks scatter, clattering against the floor. Almost inhumanly fast, the man’s head snaps up, and Logan’s breath stutters. But instead of doing anything Logan expected- he grinned.  
  
He grinned, wide and toothy, and a shiver bolted down Logan’s spine.  
  
Within seconds, the man’s body shifts and melts and reforms- his shirt is pitch black, tie a metallic blue. Logan’s sure his pulse jumps.  
  
The man looks down to Roman’s form, features falling flat.  
  
‘You’re unneeded, you’re aware, I hope. I know it’s quite hard for the mentally retarded to think as I, but do try to listen close. Pathetic excuse for a prince you are, you should be thankful I even lower myself to speak with you.’ Logan stiffens, watching as the man begins to circle Roman, eyes never leaving him, glinting with amusement.  
  
‘If it weren’t for you, Thomas could have been an engineer. He could have had a much more respectable life than **_this_**. Weighted down by _your_ fanciful idiocies and under-cooked dreams of a life that he, nor you, will ever get to live.’ The man’s voice rises into a snarl, and he tilts his head, landing a harsh kick to Roman’s stomach.  
  
‘You deserve pain- after all you’ve done to hurt Thomas and Anxiety, that is, it’s only fair. Repeat that.’ He snaps it, and Roman sobs softly.  
  
‘I- I dessserve p-p-pain.’  
  
‘That’s correct. You do. You’re cruel, a nuisance, a burden that forces others to bear it. You don’t deserve to be a part of a family.’ Roman curls down into himself, arms hugging his torso.  
  
‘I- I’m cr-cr-cruel a-and- and- a- a- a nuisance and I- I don’t- _de- deserve-_ ’ Roman trails off into incoherent coughs and sobs, and the man’s eyes harden.  
  
He shifts and melts all over again, continuing his path, and Logan’s stomach turns when he sees the pale blue polo.  
  
‘Mm. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it kiddo?’ Logan shudders a little at the gentler pitch in his voice, ‘You wanting to live in a world where _you’re_ the hero, and you _deserve_ to be happy, everyone _loves_ you, and you _deserve_ that love, and you just get all the attention your pretty little heart can desire.’  
  
The man pauses his speech, cocking his head.  
  
‘That sounds really selfish, doesn’t it?’ His voice is harder, a sharp, angry edge to it, and Logan winces- he’s only heard that tone from Patton a few times.  
  
Roman sobs, shaking his head, and the man kicks him hard in the ribs, grabbing his hair and yanking hard, growling. ‘That sounds like something an arrogant little _bitch_ would want, _doesn’t it?_ ’  
  
When Roman doesn’t say anything, the man grabs his shoulder, shoving him back and over hard, his head hitting the ground with a thump, bouncing. He yelps, entire body jerking. The man doesn’t let go, following to straddle him, glasses nearly falling off his face.  
  
Blood wets his khakis, but he ignores it. He’s shifting and melting and then the blood isn’t visible anymore where it soaks into dark, ripped jeans.  
  
‘You’re a selfish, pathetic, disgusting little _bastard_ y’know that princey? I- I mean i’ve met some bad ones but _you-_ ’ The man’s hands are at Roman’s neck, pressing in hard, leaning his weight into it in a way that makes Logan’s stomach turn. For a long moment, he can’t move.  
  
And then, cool metal rests in his hand, a weight that he’s used to by now. He hadn’t meant to summon it, hadn’t even thought of it, but the feeling makes him stiffen, fingers readjusting around it.  
  
He takes in a quick breath, shutting his eyes and bringing his other hand to the gun, steadying it.  
  
He hears Roman whimpering, and the man laughing, and he grits his teeth.  
  
In one swift movement, Logan leans back and braces himself as he fires off one shot, striding out from behind the wall, movement sideways in an attempt to keep his eyes on the man and the gun aimed at his head.  
  
The man jolts hard, and either Roman or him yelps- Logan isn’t too concerned, if Roman can make a clear noise, he can breathe, which means the man’s hands have loosened in shock- the man’s head snaps to him, eyes flashing a sharp golden colour, pupils narrowing into slits.  
  
Logan’s stomach turns, hair at the back of his neck rising. He widens his stance, digging his shoe back against a rock behind him.  
  
He jerks the gun, tilting his head.  
  
‘Get off of him. _Now._ ’ The man pauses, staring at him, and the air seems to still.  
  
He cocks a brow.  
  
He grins coolly, and Logan’s fingers twitches against the trigger.  
  
He leans his weight in again, grinning wide.  
  
‘Oh? Make me, my nerdy nuisance.’ Roman isn’t moving, now, but his chest heaves, so he’s not dead, and- _the floor, bounce, concussion-_  
  
Logan advances quickly, lowering the gun to keep it locked onto the man’s head, and when the man falls backwards at the sudden movement, Logan lunges, kicking Roman just to get him _away_ from his attacker.  
  
Logan winces at how limply Roman rolls away, but continues forward, knee digging into the soft flesh of the man’s stomach, a guttural growl leaving his throat when the man sweeps his arm out towards Logan’s hand, knocking the other Side’s elbow out from under him and earning a grunt, the gun clattering against the ground, the man arching and swiping his hand at the weapon.  
  
The man’s knee comes up, heading for Logan’s stomach but ending up at his hip. Logan winces, slipping, his fingers digging harshly into the side of the man’s face, thumb digging into his eye purposefully.  
  
He ignores the warbling shout of, ‘ _THAT FUCKING HURT YOU CUNT-_ ’, his fingers tangling into the other’s hair and yanking him closer, knees pushing up under himself as his left hand scrambles for the gun he’d dropped, right hand scratching at the man’s face and elbow digging hard into his adams apple.  
  
The man grunts and wheezes, eye clenched shut, and he lets out a loud, near animalistic noise, hands flying up to grab at him. Logan feels heat radiating from his hands. He grimaces, abandoning the gun to grab the man’s hand, pushing back hard and relishing in the resulting crack! and yelp.  
  
Heat burns between their hands, angry crackling emitting from it. Logan didn’t know what the man was attempting to summon, but he didn’t want to know.  
  
Logan presses in harder, slamming the man’s hand down to the cave ground, and Logan allows himself to fall over the man, leg wrapped around his hip and right hand grabbing his shoulder, pressing it down to the floor, yanking his arm around to pin it to his back.  
  
The other lets out a shout, kicking and attempting to lift himself to reach a hand up for the gun, which earns Logan rolling over, pressing his shoulder into the floor and yanking his arm harder, wincing a little at the nearly wet resulting noise, the man letting out a litany of swears.  
  
Logan wedges his elbow in against his neck, panting, pressing his hand hard around the man’s wrists. The man howls at the burn, and Logan pulls his hands away, chest heaving. Handcuffs bind the man, tight enough to dig into his wrists, only one small link between them.  
  
Logan pants, but there’s no time to gather himself, the logical Side quickly reaching up and grabbing the gun with a shaking hand, leaning his weight back into the small of the man’s back, one hand pressing down his neck and the other pressing the gun to the back of his head, growling.  
  
‘Who are you?!’ He practically snarls the question, and the man pants, furiously attempting to squirm out, and Logan grits his teeth.  
  
‘ _Answer!_ ’  
  
He slams the gun hard against his head, and he lets out a choked snarl.  
  
‘ _FINE! TAKE A GUESS!_ ’  
  
Logan tenses. The man’s hair shortens, bleeding into a white-blonde that Logan recognizes far, far too well.  
  
The voice...cool, clipped, and all too smarmy.  
  
His finger twitches against the trigger of the gun.  
  
‘ _Honesty._ ’  
  
Honesty laughs cruelly, fingers flexing. His purple hoodie bleeds away into a salmon blazer.  
  
‘Ooh, Logy-bear, so _smart-_ at least that’s one thing you’re useful for.’ Logan jams the gun harder into him, leaning his weight on his neck.  
  
Honesty yelps, growling out a strained, ‘ _FUCKING- HEY-_ ’, his chin digging into the hard cave ground and legs kicking out behind him.  
  
‘Be still, or I _will_ _not_ _hesitate_ to shoot you.’ Honesty is silent for a long moment, and then he snickers, yanking at his arm with a low snarl.  
  
‘Do it _coward,_ if you’re so big and bad- do it, shoot me, c’mon, do it, I know you want to, do it pussy, _do it, fucking do it fucking shoot me, i’m right he-_ ’ Honesty lets out a gargled shout as a blast of pain shoots through his head, and Logan grits his teeth.  
  
Honesty lets out a wet laugh, light pink blood leaking out from under him. His fingers twitch sporadically.  
  
‘ _Idiot._ ’  
  
Honesty’s voice is a cringeworthy gargle, and that’s all Logan can manage to make out as Honesty slowly goes limp beneath him.  
  
But only when Honesty’s breath slows to a stop does Logan finally move, shakily pulling the gun back. He’s pale, pupils blown, and he falls off of the older Side’s back, scooting away from him.  
  
He shakes, breathing hard- his respite doesn’t last long, as a rasp from the right makes Logan jerk, suddenly reminded of exactly why he’d come here.  
  
Roman is half-sitting up, elbow propped beneath him, breath coming in wheezing rasps. His brows are furrowed, eyes flickering around rapidly. He blinks sluggishly.  
  
Roman’s chest and sides are littered with forming bruises, and there’s a long slash straight from one shoulder to the other, wrapping around the back of his neck, connecting almost in the shape of a necklace.  
  
Blood is smeared on a majority of his skin, as well, and Logan’s stomach turns.  
  
He tosses the gun, scrambling onto his knees and dragging himself over to Roman, getting to his feet, hands going out. Roman jumps after a long moment, looking up, eyes slightly unfocused. Logan presses his hands to his knees, frowning.  
  
‘Come on, we can speak later, you’re hurt, it’s crucial we get you back home.’ Logan looks over him, holdings his arms out and coaxing Roman’s hands up to his shoulders, frown deepening, ‘Can you stand?’  
  
Roman blinks, staring up at him. ‘...Logan?’  
  
His voice is airy, sluggish and confused. When he gives a nod and a soft smile, Roman slowly grasps onto him, but even then, his grip is weak, and he grunts, collapsing back to the ground the second Logan tries to lift him. He whimpers, hands flying to grab near his ankle but missing horribly.  
  
Logan grimaces, and it only deepens when Roman’s hands successfully go to his stomach, the prince curling in half with a wretch.  
  
‘I...hang on, I, i’m going to try to help, here, I’ll try to…’ Logan climbs to his feet, sliding one arm under Roman’s knees and the other behind his back, carefully lifting him off the ground. He stumbles, and his stomach turns at how _light_ Roman is.  
  
Roman rests against him, burrowing his face into Logan’s shoulder tiredly, whimpering. Logan chances a glance back at Honesty’s limp body. He hates to turn his back on him, but Roman’s state is urgent. He can’t afford to stay.  
  
Logan shakes his head and strides out of the cave, attempting not to jostle Roman too much as he heads back down the path.


	2. Tock

Logan strides down the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste. Roman's prone form is cradled in against his chest, his grip on the prince almost punishingly tight, and he chews the inside of his cheek. ‘Get off the couch, I need somewhere to lay him, hurry.’  
  
Virgil and Thomas look up, earbuds they’d been sharing falling away from them, and their eyes widen at the sight of Roman limp in Logan’s arms, the blood smeared across both of them.  
  
Logan grimaces, making a noise of frustration, and he gestures with his head, hair falling into his eyes. ‘ _MOVE!_ ’  
  
Virgil and Thomas both jump, apologizing frantically as they both scramble off the couch, Logan jamming together an apology and a word of gratitude, dipping forward to stretch Roman out on the couch. He winces when Roman’s nose scrunches, eyes fluttering, and the logical Side pushes Roman’s hair back with bloody hands.  
  
‘Hey-’  
  
‘What- what’s wrong-’  
  
‘What happened-’  
  
Roman’s eyelids flutter, eyes sluggishly pulling open, and he looks at the others blankly, blinking. ‘Wh...at? Lo...Logan…? What…?’  
  
‘Don’t crowd him, please, he’s already disoriented, just- please, give me room.’  
  
Roman whimpers, and despite the questions that he seems to have, his eyes slowly slip closed again, a laboured breath escaping him. Logan coos at him worriedly, gently petting his hand, conjuring up a chair and tugging it under himself.  
  
Logan’s pulse races against his neck, and he takes a sharp breath, hands smoothing through his hair, eyes closing briefly in an attempt to bring order to his thoughts.  
  
When he looks up again, Virgil is at the arm of the couch, leant close and seemingly inspecting Roman’s hair, gently touching his head- Roman jerks, brows furrowing, and Virgil grimaces.  
  
‘His head is bleeding.’  
  
Logan nods, wiping his palms on his jeans, ‘I need to examine the rest of him, apply gauze to it until I can do more.’  
  
Virgil makes a noise of acquiesce, and Logan turns away as he conjures the gauze, determining his next plan of action- _okay, okay, head injury, shoulders, back- legs, legs, get rid of the pants._  
  
‘Isn’t he supposed to stay awake if he has a- a concussion?’ That’s Patton, and Logan doesn’t pause where his shaking hands carefully push what’s left of Roman’s pants off of him, taking his boots as well.  
  
‘Ah- no, no, that’s an- understandable common misconception, I, I thought so as well until recently, though it is crucial to awaken them every few hours to ensure they _can_ be awoken-’ Logan grits his teeth, trailing off.  
  
Now he knew why Roman had grabbed for his ankle.  
  
A bone protrudes from it, blood dripping heavily around the object, and Logan resists the urge to heave. He hears a retch from behind himself, which doesn’t help, and he takes in a slow breath.  
  
Roman has many other wounds, bleeding or otherwise, and bruises, and Logan will most likely have to properly take care of the cuts on his back- but his foot is most certainly priority.  
  
He purses his lips, and nods.  
  
‘Okay. Okay.’  
  
He conjures gloves, pushing his hair back again and setting his glasses aside- they’d only serve to get in the way, and it wasn’t like any of them were new to the knowledge that his glasses were novelty-, mind racing.  
  
‘Please, anyone who’s easily nauseous leave the room, those who aren’t, stay, i’ll most likely need the help.’  
  
Logan exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck as he leans over Roman.  
  
‘Deceit, please take care of any immediately bleeding wounds, Virgil, keep the gauze on his head but, I need anesthesia, and-’ Logan runs his hand down his face, ‘A lot of tools.’  
  
-  
  
Logan leans back, eyes closing and head falling off the back of the chair. His arms rest on his legs, and he groans, snapping off his gloves.  
  
After who knows how long, he’d finally managed to melt the bone back into place with a mixture of tools, swearing, and his own magic. A bandage resided over the puncture hole, and Logan hoped that would be enough, and that Roman’s excess powers would heal it up nicely.  
  
He observes the rest of Roman.  
  
A wedge pillow is pushed beneath him, his hair matted and bloody- the wound on his head had finally stopped bleeding about 30 minutes in. Bandages cover his chest, and Logan absently muses that he’ll have to look at the stitches on his back later, because to be honest, he’s not sure if he could stand if he wanted, right then.  
  
‘Lo? Is it done?’  
  
Virgil’s voice is soft, and Logan nods half-heartedly.  
  
‘Yes, Virgil. I’ll most likely have to take out and properly stitch the cuts on his back, but as for now-’ Logan pauses, wearily leaning over and taking hold of Roman’s shoulder.  
  
‘Roman.’ He shakes him, pressing a hand to his chest, and when Roman’s eyes flutter, a groan leaving him, Logan feeling his chest slowly rising and falling- he exhales.  
  
‘Lo...?’ Roman’s voice is slurred with sleep and the anesthetic, and Logan makes a soft noise of affirmation, hesitating briefly before leaning down and laying a soft kiss to Roman’s forehead, taking hold of the blanket on the back of the couch and draping it over Roman, just below his shoulders.  
  
‘Yes. It’s alright now, go back to sleep.’  
  
Roman nearly seems to purr, shifting and sleepily sighing, relaxing beneath the contact- and then he’s, thankfully, under again.  
  
‘As for now, I believe it’s best to let him rest.’ Logan pauses, and then nods- almost as though he’s trying to convince himself, grimacing a little. He hangs his head.  
  
He winces a little at the feeling of a hand resting on his shoulder.  
  
‘Lo?’  
  
Logan shakes his head, shrugging off the touch. He looks up to Virgil, offers a half-smile. ‘I’m-...adequate, Virgil. You may leave.’  
  
Virgil frowns down at him, and he rounds him, heading towards the kitchen.  
  
‘I’ll make you some tea. What’s wrong?’ He chuckles, almost awkwardly, strained, 'Other than...the obvious.'  
  
‘Oh, Virgil you don’t have to-’ ‘I know, but i'm thirsty anyways. What’s wrong, Lo?’  
  
Logan clamps his mouth shut again, deflating in his chair as Virgil sets about finding wherever Roman had put the teabags. Logan didn’t particularly like tea, but Virgil hated coffee, and Logan thought perhaps it’d be a bonding experience, if he were to pretend he liked the concoction.  
  
He had quite the relationship to repair, with Virgil, after all, and any act of solidarity helped.  
  
‘I…’ Logan fiddles with his tie, avoiding looking at Virgil, ‘This will sound...incredibly selfish, but, I...feel rather…’  
  
Logan swallows thickly. He didn’t want to say this, but Patton had been working with him on being more open, and maybe Virgil would appreciate the honesty, and he wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he really, really wanted to talk.  
  
‘ _Upset_...with myself for not having noticed Roman’s absence earlier.’  
  
There’s a silence for a long moment.  
  
‘How’s that selfish again?’  
  
‘What?’ Logan looks up, and he’s met with Virgil turned around, holding Logan’s constellation mug and his own grinch mug, brows arched. Logan feels hot, all of a sudden, and his heart jumps. (Metaphorically, of course.)  
  
‘How’s that selfish? You didn’t say how.’  
  
Logan stutters for a moment, brows furrowing.  
  
‘W-well I- Roman is- injured beyond belief and- I can’t imagine how you must feel, knowing your relations with Roman it- it just seems- rather inappropriate for me to be- thinking about myself, at a time like this and-’  
  
Logan trails off at the look on Virgil’s face, and he quickly turns away, scratching at the back of his neck.  
  
‘My apologies, I don’t know what i’m saying-’ He jolts when Virgil’s voice is suddenly far, far closer.  
  
‘I think you know exactly what you’re saying,’ Virgil offers him his cup, ‘I also think that it’s valid to feel that way, but there’s no way you could’ve known.’  
  
Logan hesitantly takes the cup, quietly thanking him, all the while avoiding the Dark Side’s gaze.  
  
Virgil pauses, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to gently pat Logan’s shoulder.  
  
‘He didn’t...tell anyone, where he went. None of us could’ve known.’ Virgil sniffles, just a little, glancing away and wiping at his face.  
  
‘C’mon.’  
  
Virgil moves towards the recliner, and Logan nods quietly, pressing a hand to his knee and attempting to push himself to stand. His knee buckles, and he grunts as he falls back into his chair, tea sloshing.  
  
Virgil stares for a moment before setting down his mug with a soft, ‘Hey- don’t push yourself.’  
  
Virgil is wrapping his arms around the crook of Logan’s elbow, then, guiding him to stand on weak legs, half helping him and half dragging him to the recliner, easing him down into it, and Logan can’t do much but sigh and sag against him.  
  
Logan quietly thanks him, unable to do much more than sink into the chair, eyes fluttering as a wave of exhaustion washes over him. He clutches his tea, letting it warm his hands, and he winces a little at the sensation of Virgil perching on the chair arm.  
  
He doesn’t look up, not wanting to meet the dark, piercing eyes he knows are trained onto him right then. Maybe with less judgement than usual, but the same intensity as always.  
  
‘Do you need to sleep or can you...’ Virgil waves his hand, and Logan sighs, nodding.  
  
‘Go ahead, it’s best I stay awake to watch over Roman, in any case.’  
  
Virgil’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything about it.  
  
‘Just...what happened? How did you find him? Where did you-’ Virgil pauses, shoulders hunching a little, ‘Who did this?’  
  
It takes Logan’s sluggish mind a long moment to process the question, and he blinks. His stomach churns- whether from hunger or some mixture of anger and hatred at the question.  
  
‘I...I found him in a cave, in the woods of his realm. He was, being...taunted, by another Side, shapeshifting into each of us to,’ Logan clears his throat, fingers twitching, ‘Insult, Roman and, harm him. I...shot them.’  
  
Logan glances away, fingers beginning to drum against his knee.  
  
‘It was Honesty.’  
  
When Logan chances a look up, Virgil mouth is open, shoulders tensed, hand balled into a fist against his thigh. He lets out a sharp noise similar to the growl of an alligator, and Logan twitches, a cold shiver running down his spine.  
  
‘Wish i’d been there, knew that guy was a fucking creep.’ Virgil hunches into his jacket, letting out another low snarling noise, and Logan just nods, offering a quiet, ‘Well said.’  
Logan allows his eyes to flutter closed, and for a long moment, there’s silence.  
  
Virgil sighs.  
  
‘Do you think he’s going to be okay?’  
  
Logan’s head lolls to the side, and he looks to where Roman is sleeping peacefully, lips slightly parted, and he hums.  
  
‘Physically he’ll scar and I imagine he will have a limp for a week or so. Mentally, i’m...unsure. I’m aware he is already quite insecure, the...psychological effects of repeated degradation from those you love are…’ Logan winces at the irony of that sentence coming from him, ‘Uncertain.’  
  
Virgil makes a soft noise. Slowly, he slips off the chair.  
  
‘I’ll uh...go tell the others. When I get back you can ah, get some rest. I’ll watch him for you.’ Logan pauses- he wants to deny the offer, but his tongue feels thick and he just half-nods, earning a tense smile in return before Virgil sweeps up the stairs.


End file.
